"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
She is alone, as she has been since she came back.
At the edge of an empty meadow, some place hidden away from the rest of the population, unable to bring herself to forge any kind of connection. A useless thing, when every connection she’s ever had simply breaks.
She used to be beautiful, or at least that is what they used to tell her. The kind of beauty that radiated from her core, the kind that reached her eyes and spread in her veins. Someone called her wildflower once, but she can’t seem to recall his name, and hardly his face. She is nothing like a flower anymore. She is still pretty, but she is not beautiful. She is broken, her heart tattered and frayed, and there is a weariness in her bones that she doesn’t think will ever leave.
When the earth begins to faintly rumble she only assumes it is the afterlife coming back to claim her – and she can’t find it in herself to care. She has built herself from nothing too many times, and maybe eventually some things are just not meant to be (like happiness, or even anything beyond this apathetic existence she can’t seem to out run).
But on the wind there comes dust, and though she tucks her chin to her chest against the sting of it, closes her eyes as it swirls around her, she does not move. Wildflowers begin to blossom and bloom, tangled in her white mane, twisting and entwined in the long tendrils of her tail. Vibrant colors and all shapes and sizes, so stark against the porcelain of her.
The dust settles and the flowers do too, and there is a moment where she almost feels like she could have smiled.
It was rare to find her separated from her sister, though she was sure that Eadaz was not far. She never was. But she knew that Ead wouldn’t have left her side if there were any indication of danger. Ead had very good instincts about danger. Elain couldn’t always understand how Ead knew the things that she knew, but she trusted her sister implicitly. It was one of Ead’s many gifts.
Elain often wished for magic. Her sister had been touched by magic. It had been evident from the very moment that they were born. But Elain?
Elain was perfectly plain.
She had no gifts, to speak of.
She was never jealous of her sister’s gifts, because she knew that Ead’s gifts almost always came with a cost. Ead often spurned her magic or struggled to control the gifts that had been imposed upon her. But it never stopped Elain from dreaming…
The spotted girl lay curled amongst the flowers, waiting for sleep to claim her and her sister to return. She released a soft sigh, inhaling the damp scent of earth before snuggling closer to the dainty blooms. But it is then that the ground trembles every so slightly - just enough to stir her back to wakefulness. Her dark ears tip forward as she struggles to make out the source of the sound.
But all she hears is the rustling of the wind in the trees. The wind is warm and her eyes flutter shut as the breeze swirls around her. There is a tickle of dust in the wind - she can feel it settling on her coat, her lashes, and filling her nostrils. She lets out a small sneeze as the wind again quiets - leaving only the familiar sounds of night. But the sensation is comforting and lulls the child to sleep.
And she will wake in the morning to find herself touched by magic.
Ainu's sides heaved in pain as hunger and lack of oxygen had weakened her. All she could concentrate on was the painful rumble in her stomach, accompanied by the feeling of nausea and the inability to breathe properly. The white mares slender legs gave out, and she fell to the soft grass of the field, where she lay waiting for death to take her, truly believing that these would be her final half-breaths.
Suddenly a strong breeze washes over her soft coat, and brought with it a strange dust that clung to the hair of her face, itching and tickling her. Her eyes opened wide with surprise as it suddenly became easier to take in oxygen, and her hunger seemed to fade away.
Confusion and excitement were clear in her face, even if all she had were her eyes. Tears of relief streamed down her cheeks, and she stared at the mountain in the distance, nodding in thanks before resting her head on the cool grass beneath her, her body now relaxed now that her suffering had been lifted.
Icicle Isle is dusty these days, but then roan stallion has not seen this kind before. It comes at night, but he’s still awake - or perhaps again - wandering beneath the blue-ish, greenish sky. It almost appears that the Isle is normal in the night; cold and strangely lit, the shadows might be mistaken for ice and snow, not grey ash and dust. At least, it would be for most of the others; unfortunately his night vision is better than most and he can only trick himself if he squints.
Nevertheless, the new dust that comes (ominously enough, straight) towards him, is not that of burnt trees or broken rock. This is weird stuff, and when it hits him stings less than sand; but still prickles on a different level and that’s when he knows what it is, though not why or how.
He’s endured enough - some would say too much - fairy magic in his life to recognize it. Why it still comes to him he doesn’t know, other than maybe he somehow attracted it like a magnet. Accumulates it because he has other magics already.
He knows however, more than some others. Knows there is no outrunning fairy magic when one wants to. So when the magical, but still sharp enough sand buffets him, he closes his eyes against the sharpness, braces himself, and waits for it to go away.
It seems endless, like many things on a still summer night might feel. But when the tingling leaves, and he opens his eyes, he’s quite relieved about the result: it seems only the surface was affected. Ink black swirling tattoos cover his legs, though upon inspection he sees they are tattoos ingrained in his skin below the icy scales. The colorless swirls rise from his black fetlocks towards his lower chest and belly on all four legs. He currently doesn’t see the small swirl on the back of his left ear, coming from below his mane and reaching just about to the tip, but he’ll probably find out later.
Staring into the night sky with a small frown for a while, the draft-built stallion then shakes his head and continues his walk. Ironically, he finds nothing else out of order that night.
nothing burns like the cold
Leilan
Leilan is randomly (or is it?? ) being given the trait “Glowing Tattoos” (currently a carried trait). They are black so they’re more or less vanta-black instead of glowing bc black doesn’t really glow.
(As approved by Cassi, the trait would still genetically be ‘glowing’ tattoos in case any future offspring inherits it, as maybe they’d get a different color.)
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
A distant rumble breaks the silence of the starry night. A wild force sweeps through the forest, the trees moaning a weary protest as the wind batters their ancient branches. Fallen leaves rustle as they race across the forest floor, and Nalani wakens with a start as they tumble over her resting head. She looks around wildly, her wide eyes smarting from the dirt the wind kicks up around her.
Her starlight friend hovers beside her, the glowing ball of starshine seemingly unchanged by the events unfolding around them. Its warm, steady glow soothes her. There is nothing to fear tonight.
Nalani steadies her racing breaths and as she does so, something in the wind shifts.
Magic.
It carries a fine dust, and with every breath the particles fill her lungs. A tingling sensation warms her body, spreading along her neck and to the base of her tail. The wind lifts her mane into the air, breathes life into its wispy strands.
And then, just as quickly as it arrived it carries on past her, taking the dust and the magic with it.
The night is still once more. The trees go back to their peaceful slumber. Nalani looks to her starlight friend with bewilderment.
“What just happened?”
The ball of starlight dances around her neck, flickering with glee.
Though she does not know it yet, tiny buds have appeared among her rusty coloured mane. In the morning light, daisies and roses will bloom. By afternoon, zinnias and marigolds will flower in pinks and oranges, and salvias will weave their purple petals through her tail.
But for now, she is unaware, and rather bemused, Nalani settles in for the night once more.
06-06-2020, 09:08 AM (This post was last modified: 06-06-2020, 09:09 AM by Pollen.)
Pollen and her accompaniment of bees have found a place to nestle into for the night. It’s a tiny grass-heavy nook in the meadow that is devoid of flowers but almost tall enough to hide her slight but growing body. She thinks here, they won’t be troubled and sleep will find them easily. It does, as one by one the bees crawl into the honeycombed parts of her pale mane and their buzzing quiets until the peaceful sounds of the night fill her ears.
Pollen has almost forgotten about other sounds and how beautiful they are: cicadas and nightingales, and a band of coyotes trying to sing the moon out of hiding. In the hush, she lowers herself to the grass as if her mother was still there to look after her. Momma is not of course, but she has no reason to be scared of the things that go bump in the night.
Sleep claims her not long after she’s tucked her chin to her knee. Dreams follow, as is their wont to do and she starts to smile in her sleep. Pleasant dreams of roaming across continents and sights she’s never seen, and not once in those dreams, is she without her bees. One or two of them might stir as they too, sleep and dream whatever dreams that bees dream.
Mostly, the yearling and her bees are fast asleep and she smiles on. Pollen is never aware of the dust that blows down off the mountain. The wind finds her, of course, parting the grass and laying a fine layer of that magical dust all over her though it only sticks to her forelock, mane and tail.
Come morning, as she wakes and stretches, her nose wrinkles at the dusty residue that has accumulated in it. By mid morning, purple asters have blossomed in her hair and the bees buzz happily around this new instant and constant food source. Pollen hasn’t seen herself yet, hasn’t looked at her reflection in the water as she hasn’t gone for a drink just yet. When she does, she’ll be pleasantly surprised to find those lovely flowers there.
Perhaps a gift from her dreams?
Or a remnant of the dust that lay over her like a fine shimmery blanket from a mountain and magic she knows nothing about.
It had been an odd first few nights here for Mesec - adjusting to not having his companions by his side, for one thing, but the lack of glow emanating from his silver markings had taken him completely by surprise. Of all the things to lose, that had seemed so small and insignificant he hadn’t really thought anything of it - but once it was gone, he missed it. Missed the gentle silver light that reminded him of his family. Perhaps it was fitting - even the moon here did not feel the same.
He is wandering in the darkness when he feels the breeze stir around him, feels the slight sting of tiny particles of dust hitting him. At first, he wonders if somehow he has stumbled into a sandstorm even though he is in a lush green meadow. He turns his head to check and sees thousands of shimmering flecks surrounding him, settling into his skin. He watches as they settle into his skin, clustering around the silver markings on his belly.
And then that glow he has known his whole life returns. It’s a gentle, silver light - the light of the moon. When the dust fades away, the glow remains, and Mesec smiles - allowing himself to hope that this tiny gift is a blessing telling him that he’s exactly where he should be.
06-06-2020, 12:00 PM (This post was last modified: 06-06-2020, 12:04 PM by Aela.)
Things are odd below the Mountain.
A child is sleeping. Her legs are folded gently beneath her and a golden cheek is nestled against the soft, sandy ground. The little girl remains oblivious to the darkness around her and had she been awake, her sphere of existence only orbits around the lullaby of crashing waves nearby and the chestnut mare who stands poised above her.
There is nothing to worry about - not with such a simple and sweet existence. It is only mother and daughter - mare and foal - and that is the only existence that Aela has so far known.
The world shakes and it rattles their existence.
She wakes.
She is jolted from her sleep and her head raises. Aela’s front legs frantically reach out as she tries to rise but an uneven distribution of her weight only makes the girl fall backwards, tumbling into a mess of limbs and tussle of flaxen fur. A frenzied heart and heaving sides. When she finally does find her hooves, the child presses her face into the swollen side of her mother. Safe, she thinks as she pushes the solid memory of her dam back to its comforting source.
A summer breeze blows past them and a reassuring touch on her haunch makes the child peer up. "The wind is whispering,” says the hushed mare. Aela watches her mother with wide eyes - not understanding what speaks of - and the chestnut mare smiles, reaching down to lovingly with her dark mouth to brush against her daughter’s tender cheek. Lilliana repeats the motion a few times and the girl calms; the furious pace of her heartbeat slows and her breathing steadies. Her mother brushes aside the dust that has settled on her flaxen coat.
The world shook and they still stand.
Aela - finally finding peace again - feels heavy-lidded and sleep starts to cloud the corners of her mind. Her long legs fold and as the child settles down to rest, an ear flicks to catch the sound of her mother’s lilting voice. "Look at you,” the red mare says wonderingly, as if there will never be enough glimpses and glances of her children in a single lifetime.
The girl is already dreaming but like her brothers before her, the child glows as she sleeps.
AELA
you've got your roots and i've got the wind in my soul
Aela is claiming glowing markings! Thank you fairies <3
06-06-2020, 01:48 PM (This post was last modified: 06-06-2020, 01:48 PM by Kestrell.)
I’d been made during a dark hour, when my father fought my mother but long before I’d ever come to hear about that story, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I was born during a dark hour as well. Night surrounded us, my mother and I, and I slipped out into a world that smelled like rich perfume. It was cold that night. A leftover wind from the mountaintops swept across the starlight wildflowers I was curled up in and made me shiver. That was my first movement. Then for the first time I felt my mother, bathing me and bringing the blood under my skin rushing to the surface. From then on I would think of her as my one source of warmth. She was my mother after all. The one horse I would come to depend on, not even knowing how much danger I was already in.
When her nose and her wet tongue brushed over my cheek I blinked and opened my eyes, staring up past the waving flyaways of her blue and white mane to where the moon hung low in the sky. It was almost gone, just a thin crescent of weak light that stood out among the stars, but I marveled at it anyway. I marveled at everything, desperately looking around as if I were afraid that I’d miss seeing something magical. Almost as if I knew that soon enough these infant memories would disappear.
And while I was marveling, something marvelous happened.
My mother named me. She called me a word, “Kestrell.” And she tethered me to Beqanna and her bloodline forever. I couldn’t understand the gravity of it all, but I responded anyway. I turned my chin and gave her the full view of my own moon-marking, a black crescent that curved under my pale eyes, and when she touched me afterward I felt another warm surge of energy. My mother’s power was like electricity surging through my veins, empowering me to leap up from where I lay in the grass and dirt excitedly. All of a sudden I was alive, burning with the force of a thousand suns and feeling like my heart could explode out of my chest!
I wanted to move, to run, to flare my wings and find my voice but I could only stand and tremble for a moment, waiting for my knees to lock into place, and when the trembling had stopped I found that I wasn’t the one trembling anymore! The ground underneath us was, and I glanced up at the night sky again to see a strange, light plume of smoke blooming across the heavens miles and miles away. The trembling stopped, but not a moment later the wind picked up again until it was strong enough to blow down the field of peonies. My mane and tail fluttered, and I flared my wings and snorted - showing that strange cloud and the wind that I wasn’t afraid!
But then I sneezed, my legs gave underneath me and I fell back into the dirt and flowers with a painful-sounding, “Umph!” For a brief minute I was dazed by the entire ordeal. My rump hurt, and I felt like crying, but I blinked away the stinging tears and thought it was actually funny. I found my voice and it bubbled up into hiccups, bursting out of my mouth with little gasping laughs. “Oh Mama!” I giggled and shook my big-little head, not even realizing that my black mane and tail shimmered like a night full of stars now. “Did’ja see that?!” I shook my little wings with my bellyful of laughter, and a tiny dark feather drifted down to the ground. It sparkled like black tinsel.
OOC: Kestrell is claiming Glittering
06-07-2020, 06:36 PM (This post was last modified: 06-07-2020, 06:38 PM by evarae.)
there's something about a woman with a loud mind that sits in silence, smiling, knowing she can crush you with the truth
It's a beautiful summer morning when Evarae lands gently in the meadows of Beqanna. Her delicate butterfly wings flutter playfully as she takes in the sights of the rolling landscape. With a small smile to herself she makes her way through the tall grasses, her short legs carrying her delicately shaped body with grace.
The warm summer air wrapped around her like a gentle hug and a thunderstorm threatened to grow off in the distance over the mountains. Though while the threat of rain would typically push her to find a cave to hide within and protect her delicate wings, Evarae's desire to investigate the meadows overcame the warning bells that were ringing throughout her mind.
As the butterfly made her way through the new land a sudden burst of wind carried through the meadows. It was yet another threat of the growing summer thunderstorm. Gently the butterfly turned her small delicate head towards the mountains, her lips twisting in thought as she watched the clouds grow more ominous. It's only when she shrugs softly, writing off the impending rain yet once again that she turns to face the rest of the equines socializing around her.
With that movement came the settling of the dust that had been carried on the wind and within moments the buds of plumerias began to pop up within her main and tail unbeknownst to the butterfly. Though the lack of knowledge wouldn't last long. Soon the beautiful flowers would bloom and their sweet scent would draw in the bees and true butterflies of the world, causing her to discover the beautiful gift from the mountain.
THANKS FOR THE HTML VENGE !
ooc: evarae is claiming FLOWERS
*I joined Evarae here, her name is listed as all unknown in the database and it has not yet been updated. Just felt like I should note this in case there is any confusion :]
) being given the trait “Glowing Tattoos” (currently a carried trait). They are black so they’re more or less vanta-black instead of glowing bc black doesn’t really glow.
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